


Surrogate

by celluloid



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:31:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celluloid/pseuds/celluloid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Pike treated Kirk like a son, and one time Kirk treated Pike like a father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surrogate

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in June 2009 for the Star Trek kink meme.

**One.**

The first time Christopher Pike sees George Kirk’s son, he sees him with blood all over his face and drunk out of his mind. Or at least, he hopes that Jim Kirk is out of his mind, and furthermore, he hopes that this is not a usual occurrence, although something tells him that it is. He hears the younger Kirk make a drunken comment directed towards him, and then he sees him pass out, lying flat on his back on top of a bar table, infirmed and pathetic. 

He knows that he can’t leave the son of a man who had once commanded him (even if it was for only twelve minutes and he never even received a direct order – the man was a hero) alone in this state, so he waits for Kirk to regain consciousness. While he does, curiosity takes over and he looks up the kid’s record, not wanting to believe that the son of someone so great would have one, but at the same time, he looks at his surroundings. Light, almost grudging attempts being made to get Kirk off of the tabletop, to clean up his bloodied face. Chairs and tables knocked askew, broken shards of glass and spilled liquor decorating a bar he feels his cadets shouldn’t have been in in the first place. All caused by the kid. He has a hard time believing that he doesn’t have one.

There’s underage drinking, drunk and disorderly conduct. Lists of suspensions that turn to expulsions. Theft, property damage, assault. Numerous hospital visits are noted. Multiple arrests, as times spent in juvie turned into times spent in prison for various amounts of time. Jim Kirk is a mess, a boy who has shunned the entire world. An angry child openly rebelling against anyone and anything at anytime, with all sense of caution and restraint thrown to the wind. A reckless, dangerous punk who, one of these days, is likely to spend longer than three months locked up. Just another statistic for the state of Iowa to take care of.

Pike can’t believe his eyes as he reads through it. George Kirk died to save his son’s life, among hundreds of others; they only existed in the same plane at the same time for seconds. The first juvie visits were short as the kid was quickly claimed once again, but it didn’t take too long for them to stretch out longer. And clearly Kirk didn’t take too kindly to being locked up, as numerous fights and mentions of solitary confinement – for brief periods of time only, thank god – are mentioned. Christ, the kid’s even been put on suicide watch. There’s no way this is George Kirk’s son.

But they share the same name and they look far too alike to be unrelated. This worthless carcass, so full of potential and taking every opportunity available to squander it, is the son of a man who saved 800 lives. They share everything but temperament. 

His eyes flick up from the PADD to the broken and still-unconscious face. He wonders why this difference is. Pike knows that the elder Kirk had been wild in his younger days, but never this wild, and he had settled down almost immediately when placed into a position of greater power. He supposes some of it could very well be hereditary, but then, that doesn’t account for the extremes Jim Kirk goes to. Maybe he was simply never disciplined; had no father figure to teach him what was and wasn’t acceptable. But recorded amongst the data are mentions of a man coming to claim Kirk from wherever he’d gotten himself locked up, so he doubts that was the case. Maybe the boy had been disciplined _too_ much, which would account for the apparent need to strike against authority at every opportunity, but then, why would the son of George Kirk have been experiencing such punishment in the first place? Surely the name must have meant something…?

Pike finds himself reevaluating his belief in the importance of names when Jim Kirk regains consciousness and is sitting across from him, Kleenex stuffed in his nostrils and his visage still roughed up, ordering yet _another_ drink. He’s met with immediate insolence and finds himself frustrated at the behaviour, but is able to keep his features relatively neutral. He wants to give the kid the benefit of the doubt, so he does, at first, but the attitude persists and Pike still can’t believe that this is the son of the man who saved his life by giving up his own.

Aside from the sounds of sweeping and cleaning, the bar is completely silent. Aside from the bartender, Pike and Kirk are the only two living, breathing beings occupying the building. The broom’s rustle and the sound of ice hitting a glass mix in his mind and overwhelm his hearing as he strives to find the correct course of action. Something inside of him tells him to just get up, walk away, and leave this kid to continue along his destructive path, because nothing is ever going to reach him. But a bigger part of him notes that he didn’t get to where he is today by giving up. 

There’s something inside of him that _desperately_ wants to save this boy. A strong, compelling urge to fix up this kid’s life, whether he wants to be on the right path or not. He has no relation to Jim, he has no reason to have an emotional connection with the boy who practically spat blood in his face by means of the first greeting the two would share, but he feels like the kid’s been through enough. He feels like Jim needs to be saved, and while others have perhaps already tried and failed, he’s going to try and he’s going to succeed, because he knows that Jim Kirk is better than all of this. He’s smart and his name is Kirk. Pike is going to rectify this situation. 

He tries to avoid dwelling on the fact that this was not the way they should have met; they should have met when George would have taken his young son to the academy, and the little boy would look around in awe, and at some point through the impromptu field trip, say, “Daddy, I want to do what you do.” And their second meeting should have been ten years later, when Pike would see all of the bright and fresh-faced cadets, and Jim Kirk would be among them, making his parents proud. 

But that’s not the case and it never was the case and it never will be the case. Pike is met with the problem that he doesn’t know how to convince someone with such strong issues against authority to join an organization where ranks and commands are so important. And he knows that he has to _convince_ Jim Kirk, he can’t _order_ him, because there’s no way the kid would comply then. So he regards his surroundings, racking his brain to find the solution to put this child on the right path. He takes note of the impulsive behaviour, the thing that causes him to leap before looking the second he’s issued with any kind of challenge. 

Pike just thinks that all he wants is the best for Jim, and then, the words come to him easily.

“I dare you to do better.”

**Two.**

Officially, it is not favouritism that propels an illegal stowaway to the position of First Officer. Not at all. If he ever gets the chance to be questioned on his actions, Pike will deny such a thing. Sure, he’ll draw a _little_ on the Kirk name, but mostly, he’ll cite the balance he felt should be observed when Spock and Kirk were brought together. There’s some kind of connection between the two; he can feel it. Their personalities should compliment one another and they should be able to work in synchronization. Pike feels that the two of them, together, can be counted on to come back and get him from the Romulan ship if need be.

Unofficially, well. As long as this is only him admitting it to himself, then yes. There is… a certain degree of preference. He is biased, even though he shouldn’t be. Because there are so many others on board who are just as capable, if not moreso, of taking the position of second-in-command. There are definitely those that are far more deserving; those who have never had a record, have maintained perfect grades, have never been placed on academic suspension. He’s well aware that outside of his own head, his appointment is seen as, well, _illogical_.

But inside his mind, it’s perfectly logical. Kirk is training to take command. He does receive excellent grades. This is an opportunity for him to test what he’s learned so far in his classes, to put it to a real field experience, and not just a simulation.

What, maybe he should present this chance later, at a less perilous time? Will Kirk even be given another chance? He was placed on academic suspension, accused of (and basically even admitted to) cheating, and then the next time he’s seen, he’s smuggled himself aboard and has broken onto the bridge, where he immediately ignores rank and starts talking as if nobody has the right to raise their voice above his. Jim Kirk will be lucky if he even gets to finish his time at the Academy, Pike muses. This will probably be the only chance he has to actually prove himself.

And Pike can’t stand the thought of Jim getting expelled again. He doesn’t want to think of where, then, the kid would turn up, but he knows it wouldn’t be anywhere good. His life would be over, Pike’s sure of it, and the thought of that makes his stomach twist and turn and his throat close up on him. The first time he ever saw Jim Kirk, he saw him completely fucked in a bar in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. He doesn’t want to return from this mission only to end up seeing Jim Kirk behind bars or in a box. And if that’s the way it has to be, well, the absolute least Pike can do is to give Jim a little taste of what he’s striving towards, now that he actually has goals.

Chris Pike feels extremely protective of Jim Kirk and he feels that despite whatever kind of life the kid has lead, he deserves a taste of what he wants. It’s a taste he’ll probably never get again, and under any other captain, he probably never would have gotten it in the first place. It’s the least he can do, isn’t it? And it makes perfect sense to him.

Pike feels like there are no other options or possibilities. Kirk is just _there_ when he needs to promote someone as he leaves the ship. He’s _there_ and he’s _looking_ at him and Pike can’t help but look back at the youthful, eager face, and he decides that he sees a little bit of himself in there, even though he knows that he actually doesn’t because Jim Kirk is _not_ his son. 

But like any good father, he only wants the best for his child. And while he can’t quite give him the best and will be unable to protect him when the Enterprise docks again and Kirk is brought before the board again, for now, it’s Pike who is in charge and Pike will do whatever he damn well pleases if there’s even the slightest chance that it’ll get the kid somewhere, anywhere. 

He feels as if he’s the coach and his son is on the team and he makes his son captain because, well, he’s his son, and his son is deserving and capable and is one of the most talented and skilled of the bunch. And yes, some of that is blustered up because he can’t help but look at the child with anything but a father’s eyes.

But Christopher Pike is not Jim Kirk’s father. He has no reason to look at him like this; he has no reason to possess such a strong drive to fix, to help, to correct Jim and give him everything he’s ever dreamed of. He has no reason to place him in the position of First Officer so suddenly. Pike knows that such an action could very well result in his demise.

But, he muses, it could end up saving him as well. Rushing into dangerous situations with little regard for yourself is something that he feels has been lost amongst the current generation of captains, of authorities, and he feels that Kirk is more than capable of doing just that, and doing a damn good job of it, too. He has faith in this boy.

So he does it anyway. Because even though he doesn’t possess them, Christopher Pike can’t help but look at Jim Kirk through a father’s eyes. 

**Three.**

Within the recesses of his mind, he can recall, just barely, a pained, blurry period. He’s made immobile and essentially helpless and there’s something crawling around inside him, in a way far too literal for, well, anyone to be comfortable with. It’s agonizing and it continues to be agonizing even as he finds himself able to move and in the process of being freed and he has enough of his basic instincts about him to be able to defend himself and his saviour, even though he’s hardly coherent right now and has a hard time recalling who, exactly, it is, removing him from his strapped-down position, let alone where he is, why he’s there, or _who_ he even is. The world is blinding but the light isn’t bright, and then it is, but that light isn’t blinding either, and just before his hearing starts to fail on him he can hear excited voices. Then everything falls out of focus as if descending through a gradient from aware to not, and the last sensation he can recall, with far too sharp and disturbing a clarity in contrast to everything else, is his legs starting to give out under him, and that’s when he finally lets his whole mental composure slip and starts raging curses inside his head, or, at least, for as long as he remains conscious.

So when he awakes and the first thing he recalls is the feeling of his legs buckling underneath the rest of his body, his immediate reaction is to shoot his torso up, stretch his arms out, and feel for them; to rub some warmth back into them so that the numbness will go away and within a few minutes he’ll be able to stand, and walk, and he’ll walk right back to the bridge where he will stand beside his captain’s chair for a few moments, taking care of what needs to be done before allowing himself to sit back down again.

Except he isn’t sure what, at this point, needs to be done.

That doesn’t stop him from immediately attempting to sit up, though. It’s just a shame that the jerkiness of the intended movement is negated by how weak his body is. The result is that the action is turned from one of confidence and strength to one of crippling weakness as he’s hardly even able to lift his head off of the pillow it’s resting against, instead coming to a pathetic flop right back against it. Pike makes some kind of noise that attracts the attention of a bleary figure possessing shorter sleeves, even though this person is on the opposite side of the room, busy with something else. 

McCoy catches the movement in his peripheral vision, actually, and drops whatever it was he was doing to rush over to Pike’s side and start taking a reading almost immediately. If Pike had the strength about him, then he’d try to observe the state of his surroundings, but he’s only just now starting to come to terms with his physical presence, let alone anything else. Instead he closes his eyes and tries to relax, letting the hum of the tricorder fall over his body.

It then stops and a gruff, tired voice replaces it. “Well, at least you’re awake now. That’s a good sign,” McCoy says, gazing at the reading. He doesn’t look happy, Pike notes. He doesn’t sound it, either. It sounds like the doctor has been up several hours too many, and he looks rather chiseled and tired. 

“Doctor…?” Pike is able to choke out, testing his voice (at least that’s still working) and searching for a name at the same time.

“McCoy,” comes the reply, and the name means something to him, so that’s good.

“The new CMO?” he queries. 

McCoy looks about his sickbay, fully occupied by crewmembers and patients and staff. “Yeah,” he huffs. “That’s me. Captain, can you—“

“Could you prop me up some more, please?” Pike requests, and is pleased – hey, he has to take what he can get for the moment – when he finds his view of the ceiling diminishing as he’s able to get a better look at his surroundings. He’s limited in physical capacities at the moment, and he’s well aware of that, but that’s no reason as to why he shouldn’t have at least some idea of the status of his environment. Besides, this one is much more pleasant to look at. “Thank-you. Do you know how much longer I’m going to have to stay here?” he questions. He’ll take his rest and let his body recuperate, but as soon as he’s able to, he wants to go back to his chair.

He waits for an answer, and upon not receiving one, turns his gaze away from the general view of the sickbay to meet the doctor’s eyes. McCoy glances down at his tricorder again, then back at Pike’s eyes, and repeats the action another two times. Finally, he breathes out, “Not for the rest of the return flight, at the least. I’m not quite sure— I need to get you to a medical bay with more sophisticated equipment than a starship has.” McCoy shrugs helplessly, “I need more accurate equipment to assess the full extent of the damage your body bared on the _Narada_.”

Pike blinks, keeping his face impassive. “What’s the worst-case scenario you suspect?”

“Captain,” McCoy begins in a low tone, and Pike has the feeling that this is as gentle as the doctor ever gets, “you might never walk again.”

Pike feels his stomach lurch but remains stoic otherwise. He swallows. “How much longer until we dock at a base with sufficient medical facilities?”

“We’re heading to Earth now, sir, but the trip is going to take a little longer – our warp drives have been damaged. I haven’t been alerted as to the actual timeframe our return is going to take; damn engineers never tell me anything,” the doctor mutters under his breath. “But,” and at this his voice picks up again, recalling that he is addressing a superior officer, “you’re going to have to stay in this bed for the remainder of the trip.”

Pike nods. “Of course,” he says, and he hates it; all he’s done is traded the bed he’s been confined to. But there’s no time for his bitterness now. “In that case, could you please send Acting Captain Spock to me?”

McCoy’s brow furrows and he hesitates briefly before replying, “Commander Spock removed himself from the position, sir.”

“What?” Pike snaps, and if he wasn’t completely awake before, he sure is now. “Well, then, who is? Send him to me.”

-

Pike’s eyes glance over the young, beat up body standing straight and to attention before him. He can see Kirk’s chest rise and fall unevenly; can see the bruises formed at his neck. The cadet-turned First Officer-turned Acting Captain regards Pike evenly, but the older man can tell that standing so still and properly is a strain on the younger one. The two hold each other’s gazes evenly, and Pike finds himself thankful for the private room.

Silence reigns as Pike tries to think about how, exactly, he’s going to say what needs to be said. He wanted to talk to Spock initially to get a status update, but this is something else entirely. Not only does he need to know what’s going on in his ship, but he needs to chastise this boy, who should not be commanding the entire ship in his place. He knows that it’s his own fault for promoting Jim to First Officer in the first place, but back then, he had no idea that it was going to go _this_ far. (Had he had foresight, he’s still not sure if he would have done anything differently; after all, he’s still alive.) This is an attitude that needs to be reamed in, though, and as quickly as possible before it’s allowed to fester and grow and become irrepressible.

“So,” Pike breaks the silence, “Doctor McCoy appears to be rather overworked.”

“We all are, sir,” comes Kirk’s even response, despite the brief flicker of _something_ , and he’s not sure what, in his eyes, and Pike gets the feeling that this is the first time the kid has ever taken a visit to the principal’s office so seriously. Kirk is still standing to attention, eyes straight ahead, but not quite meeting Pike’s gaze. 

Pike nods. “I suppose you would be, after what’s happened,” he remarks.

“Yes, sir,” Kirk responds in his flat monotone.

A flare of anger starts coiling itself in and up in Pike’s body, stretching out and hissing at the answer, though he keeps himself from lashing out. “Kirk,” he says, knowing that he is not going to call him “captain”, “why did you not feel the need to address Commander Spock, when he was Acting Captain, in the respectful manner you see befitting of me? He was your captain then and just as deserving as your respect then as I am now.”

He leaves the question hanging there as Kirk falters. The younger man swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, as he questions in a voice that cracks a little, “Sir?”

“Why,” Pike tries again, his voice harsher now, “did you goad Spock to the extent of forcing him to relieve himself?”

“I had to, sir,” is Kirk’s wavering response. “I… can’t tell you why,” he unhelpfully adds. 

“That’s not good enough.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” The kid’s demeanor is meek.

Pike wishes that he had the strength to rise and throttle Kirk. He wishes that he could shake the kid around, because apparently, a physical striking is the only punishment Jim can understand. As if reading his thoughts, Jim straightens his position and takes on a slightly more defensive position, but does nothing else. The change in posture is so miniscule Pike hardly even registers it, other things on his mind. 

“You,” he says, and he can hear his voice rising, “taunted the Acting Captain who had just lost his _planet_ and his _mother_ so that you would be able to take over as captain. Is that correct?” Pike snaps.

“He was emotionally compromised,” Kirk responds, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes. “He was unfit to command.”

“And you were?!” Pike feels his voice increasing in volume as he tests the current range of his vocal chords. “He’s a Vulcan, for chrissake!”

“Half a Vulcan,” Kirk mutters under his breath, unable to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. 

Pike finds himself grateful for the soundproof walls. “Excuse me, _Cadet_?” and he hopes the word stings. “Do you forget your place? You are addressing your superior officer.” Pike feels furious. He found this boy as a repeat offender, took him in, and gave him the greatest chance of his life, only to find the boy back to the attitude he’d had when they’d first met, ready to go back to being a repeat offender again. Pike feels frustrated, unable to rein this petulant child in. Nothing he does seems to work when it comes to Jim Kirk.

Jim Kirk, who is standing in front of his bed, is definitely reacting to his words, but not in the manner that Pike had hoped. His hackles are raised and his eyes are unable to hold back the anger practically radiating from them. The kid’s posture is some strange mix between overly defensive and overly aggressive, but one thing is for certain: he is pissed.

And here comes the authority issues, Pike can’t help but think, and feel bitter about. If Jim Kirk wants to be a captain – which he never will be again, as long as this keeps up – then he’s going to have to learn to get over those and take orders from others. Even though this already feels like a lost cause to Pike, he isn’t going to give up, though; if he can find some way to get the message through the boy’s thick, stubborn skull, then there may still be hope for him yet.

Before he has the chance to try again, Kirk speaks up. “Sir,” he says, and Pike can hear the growl lingering beneath the surface of the word, “you are the one who appointed me to First Officer, despite the fact that I wasn’t even supposed to be here – for unjust reasons, might I add - in the first place. And I’m the one who’s been through hell all across the universe, trying to get back to this ship so I could save it from the brutal mistake its captain at the time was about to make. I knew what was going on, I made my way back here after being _marooned_ on Delta Vega to save it and save you and save Earth and stop Nero from hurting anyone else. I have been the one in command this whole time, I have—“

“Enough!” Pike yells, halting Kirk’s mouth in its tracks. “You did this, you did that, you did _everything_ , then?” Pike snaps, his tone successfully shutting the kid up. “Kirk, you can’t think of only yourself in such a position. You can’t only dwell on what you’ve done. You can’t only give yourself recognition. You have to take into deep consideration the actions and feelings of each and every single crew member under your command. You have to learn to take responsibility for _your_ mistakes, _your_ screw ups, _your_ faults. And you have to learn to take orders from others. Because at the rate you’re going, when we return to Earth, you’ll be expelled from Starfleet Academy and you’ll never get the chance to captain a ship again in your life, and I will personally see to that. Being in command does not mean that you get to order everyone else around. It does not give you total power. A good captain knows his limits, knows when he has to rely on others. He is able to keep his mouth under control, and is able to treat all fellow officers, superiors or below him, with proper respect and decency. He is able to _listen_ to others and _obey_ others.” Pike observes Kirk’s state, noting that much of the aggression has faded and instead has been replaced with a tentative air of submission. He lets loose the breath he didn’t even know he was holding and softens his voice.

“Jim,” he says, and the gentler tone stuns the young man enough to finally be able to meet Pike’s gaze, “I don’t want to see you fail, but you’re going to if you don’t get over yourself and your issues. I know that it’s going to take time but you need to understand _now_ that your behaviour has been completely unfitting of one who intends to be in a command position.” 

Kirk drops his gaze to the floor and looks like he’d rather be anywhere other than there at the moment. 

“Still,” Pike says, his voice returning to a normal volume, “you’ve done a lot of good in these past few days. I’m proud of you.”

**Four.**

There’s a brief moment of celebration, but everybody knows it’s fleeting, and that alone does put somewhat of a damper on things. When Jim Kirk said that he’d make officer within three years, he’d imagined something a little—well, no, a _lot_ bigger. And something much more fun. And celebratory. And people would be happy. And, hell, there would be _more_ people there. Because looking at the empty seats is just hopelessly depressing, now.

But still, he’s made captain – of the _Enterprise_ , no less – and he’s only twenty-five. So he’s still pretty damn proud of himself. And he’s going to give himself some moments of ecstatic, giddy, hyped up joy more befitting of an eleven-year-old than a starship captain. Because he’s allowed to. Because he’s a captain, so he can do whatever he wants.

Well, not really. He’s making sure that gets cemented in his head. But for now, he’s going to take the promotion, smile broadly (nobody could blame him; if they were in his position, they’d do the same), and look down at Admiral Pike, meeting his gaze and resisting the urge to preen himself in the pride he can feel Pike radiating. 

It’s a good day.

Except for the fact that it’s not, really, because there are so many empty seats in the theatre that only a few days ago had all been filled to see his ass get fried. He didn’t really know a lot of them. Either he’d just fucked them or he flat-out didn’t know him; while sociable enough, the only person Jim ever _really_ spent time with at the Academy was with Bones. Though he felt that he and that Gaila chick could reach an easy, comfortable understanding, and—

Well.

Jim is pissed off that the applause he’s receiving isn’t all there, and that the day he had been striving for isn’t like he thought it would be. There isn’t anything gratifying about this ceremony and okay, so Starfleet is a little short on staff at the moment, and he knew he couldn’t do anything else the second he sat down in that chair, but this couldn’t have waited just a little while longer? Sure, it’s already been put off as long as Starfleet felt was possible, under Jim’s request, but _all of those empty seats_ …

Jim is upset, but he doesn’t show it, because he learned a long time ago to not do that, ever, but he’s still upset. He tells himself he’s happy to be promoted to captain and receive the _Enterprise_ now, to cover up for the fact that he’s actually really pissed off that it had to be under these circumstances (even though without these circumstances he _wouldn’t_ actually be the youngest captain in Starfleet history, but, hey, some things are more important than a record). And he tells himself that he’s really pissed off to cover up for the fact that he’s actually really fucking upset and could so easily burst into tears (he’s kept everything held inside him for the entire return trip and the week that was waited before today) at any moment just at the staggering amount of young life that’s been senselessly lost; the couple thousands of lives that are now irreparably fucked up thanks to a fucking black hole that now join his own. He’s righted things for himself today, though. Nobody else has. Nobody else is probably going to get the chance. 

He’s really fucking distressed that so much has been snuffed out (for god’s sake, a noticeable chunk of his crew was gone before he even had the chance to command them) and that he’s actually still alive and thriving now and fuck, he has fucking survivor’s guilt. He’s miserable and this should be the best day of his life and he can try to tell himself all he wants that this totally makes up for the twenty-two years of shit he lived through to get to this day but he knows that it doesn’t compare to _all of those empty seats_.

Captain Kirk breaks Admiral Pike’s gaze to look out across the crowd, a small smile on his face because god fuck it he is going to show happiness. He reveres in the clapping for him, _for him_ , and hopes to god that his face doesn’t look as strained as it feels. It doesn’t. But Jim is still able to lock on to one particular gaze in the crowd as he takes the joy.

-

Pike wheels himself – _wheels himself_ , for fuck’s sake – down through the dorm hallways. He keeps himself focused on the feel of his wheels against his gloves against his hands. Pike knows that Jim Kirk has been staying in his old dorm room the past week, and that he’s probably going to keep on staying there until things get more sorted out and he’s able to take off with a hopefully refreshed, replenished crew aboard a repaired, beautiful _Enterprise_ , so that’s where he’s heading.

He wants to talk, to offer anything he possibly can. Pike felt the handshake back there, and while there was certainly an air of excitement about the young captain, he remembers the brief falter before it was quickly covered with a firm, hearty grip. And it makes sense that it would be there; after all, everyone is upset by what’s happened, but these were also Kirk’s classmates, and he probably saw them all the most, so, you know, he’s probably taking it a little harder than Pike himself is. Or a lot harder, because Pike doubts that Kirk’s promotion and his being confined to a chair level the playing field in the slightest. So his mission is to get the kid to talk, and he hopes that Jim will just open up to him, because he knows that it needs to happen and he’s going to make it happen and hopefully they’ll both feel better as a result.

The door comes into view – and he knows for a fact that this is Jim’s dorm room, he’s known it ever since the kid had one, because he wanted to keep an eye on him and make sure everything was alright and to just be there if he was ever needed – and it’s closed. But Pike doesn’t really see where else Jim would have retreated to after the ceremony, so he rotates his chair around so that he’s facing it.

He wheels himself up to it and tells it to open and it does and at this point, three different people have two different reactions.

Right as the door slides open, Pike hears a rather loud moan coming from the person he wants to talk to. He also sees the face of Doctor McCoy, who had halted in mid-thrust as he’d heard the door open, and he imagines that their two expressions bear some kind of resemblance. Namely one of shock and horror.

Kirk doesn’t seem to even notice, though, lying on his back with McCoy above him, facing away from the door and his eyes are closed anyway but that doesn’t matter because he’s probably lost to the world at this point. But he feels the lack of movement and heat and his eyes start to crack open and Jim’s eyes are a little glazed over as he raises the upper half of his body, hands desperately reaching for Bones, grabbing at his hair and trying to pull Bones back down to him and gasping out as if in pain. 

McCoy’s glance is skittish as it immediately travels from Pike back to Jim and Pike immediately wheels himself backwards, out of the doorway, hearing Kirk gasp out, “Bones, Bones, where are you,” in a voice that sounds hoarse and hurt and pained and heavy just before the door slides itself shut and Pike tries to start breathing again, only just now realizing that the air had gotten lost in his throat.

He wheels himself back to his new office immediately, figuring that he’d just get a message sent to Kirk and he and the kid could just talk in there later.

-

A few hours later, Pike hears a tentative tap on his door, a few moments’ hesitation, and then louder and more solid knocking.

“Come in,” he says, his voice level.

The door slides open to reveal nobody there. And then Kirk pokes his head around the doorframe, looking in nervously before seeing that it’s just Pike sitting there behind his desk, and Pike just thinks, _What the fuck, kid._

“Um… hi,” Kirk says, stepping in and feeling the _whoosh_ of the door closing behind him.

Pike just looks straight forward. “Hi.”

“So, you, um—“

“You can sit, if you want, I mean, if you—“

“Oh, oh, yeah, okay, thanks,” Kirk flusters, and blushes, pulling up the chair Pike was obscurely gesturing to and taking a seat directly in front of the admiral, the desk separating the two.

Silence immediately dominates the pseudo-conversation and both of them can’t help but think that this is possibly one of the most awkward places they’ve ever been in, and for chrissake, it’s just a simple office. Pike’s lead a pretty average, honourable life, and can’t think of much else quite in this league, except maybe the time he was locked in a cage with three women on Talos IV while being watched by aliens whose heads, from behind, looked like, well, asses. And even then.

Kirk’s been in a number of awkward situations himself, most of them related to sex in some way, but this is definitely one of the worst ones. Sure, people have walked in on him and some girl before (usually the girl’s roommate), but then he’d just invite the newcomer to join in and all would be right again. And that probably wouldn’t have been appropriate this time. No. Definitely not. He starts to absent-mindedly tap his foot, lightly, hardly making a sound at all.

Pike hears it and feels a twinge at the fact that he can’t do the same, and would settle for drumming his fingers against the desktop, but that’s too noticeable, so he doesn’t do anything, and both men look at each other and don’t. And then they both decide to speak at the exact same time.

“I just wanted—“

“I heard that you—“

“—to talk—“

“—you, I got a message—“

“Um, you go first—“

“No, really, I mean, if you—“

“I don’t—“

“But I think you—“

“Well, whatever it is you—“

“I was just going to ask—“

“Then you can do that first, and then we’ll—“

“But it isn’t really anything—“

Both stop talking. Kirk coughs. Pike waves his hand in a gesture signifying that he’d like Kirk to go first. Then he actually enunciates it, because rolling his wrist around isn’t working, with a, “Go on.”

“Oh,” Kirk says, and blushes again. “Um. I was just—I heard that you wanted to see me, so I was just wondering what it was about, is all.” Even though he’s pretty sure he already has a fair idea.

“Yes,” Pike says, feeling heat rise in his own cheeks. _My god,_ he thinks. “Actually, it was about—“ He stops talking, takes a breath, gathers himself, and then tries again, satisfied with his level voice. “How are you holding up? I mean, in regards to what happened with the _Narada_ , and the loss of so many of our cadets, many of which, as I understand, you would have known rather well.”

“Oh,” Kirk repeats. “I’m okay,” he says, entirely too quickly. Pike regards him with a look that says, pretty clearly, that he doesn’t believe Jim. “Really, I am,” Jim insists, looking at Pike with desperate eyes. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Pike imagines that Jim Kirk can be a pretty good liar when he really wants to be, but this isn’t one of those times, and that just begs the question of if he wants to be goaded into talking about the subject, or if he’s just too distressed to bother to do a good enough acting job. But the question is irrelevant, because it means that either way, Pike is going to talk about this with Kirk. “But right now?” he asks.

“Right now?” Jim repeats.

Pike nods.

“I’m… okay,” he says, yet again, but this time, there’s some hesitation in the words. Pike picks up on this.

“Jim,” he says, “have you had the chance to grieve, yet? You were so busy running the ship on the way back, and then you had all sorts of urgent meetings to attend to here, so I just want to make sure that you’ve found time to recognize, remember, and find some acceptance.”

“I just did,” Jim says flatly.

Pike draws a blank for maybe, like, a second, before it comes crashing down on him what Jim is talking about. He blinks. Twice. Then, “Oh.”

Jim squirms a little in his seat. Pike can’t help but absentmindedly wonder what it must have been like to give James T. Kirk The Talk. 

“So, _Admiral_ , is that—“

But Pike finds himself (a little grotesquely) fascinated, and he wants to pry a little further, and he’s sure he can come up with some sort of justification for this, so he continues, “That was just a one-time thing, to deal with it all, then?”

Kirk suddenly finds one of the corners of Pike’s office particularly fascinating. “What do you mean?”

Pike coughs and finds himself blushing again, but he just wants to make sure that the boy’s going to be okay, for now _and_ in the future, and even though Jim Kirk has garnered up himself quite a reputation that should actually _ward_ others from considering him romantically, Pike still wants to make sure that Kirk is going to find someone stable and loving and maybe even female (so he’s a little prejudiced, but it’s not like he has a problem with Jim having sex with men, he just wants to see him actually settle down with a woman, and he is thinking more about long-term here). He just wants to be sure that the boy is going to find a supportive relationship to actually settle into, because the doctor is a very capable doctor, Pike knows this first-hand, but with the bedside manner he isn’t totally sure, and then there’s the age thing, because Pike finds himself a little uncomfortable with that as well, and…

“You with McCoy,” Pike says, and congratulates himself on keeping his speech smooth. “This isn’t a long-term thing, is it?”

“So what if it is?” Kirk asks, and before Pike has the chance to respond, he continues. “Is this going to be a problem according to regulations?”

Pike has to mentally congratulate the boy on being the first to actually mention how this could affect his job performance, even if it is just a deflector. “It might be,” Pike muses. “Two crewmembers aboard a ship can certainly be involved, but I’m not sure if there’s ever been a case where two people of such high rank are. I suppose as long as you keep it under control—“

“Then we’ll do that,” Kirk says, and abruptly stands up, ready to leave. Pike almost lets him, not really wanting to talk about this anymore, because Jesus, this was not something he was expecting. But then he remembers what the original purpose of the talk was, so he stops Kirk from leaving just as the door slides open.

“Wait,” he says, and Jim stops, turning his head to look at Pike from over his shoulder. “But you’re sure you’re okay? I don’t mean just—I don’t mean in regards to your ability to command, or anything. I mean just as you, yourself, a person. Are _you_ okay? Because with something of this magnitude, I doubt that just a few hours will do it. You’re one of those people that can just keep on going, letting the adrenaline pull you through, but then it hits you at random and when it does—“

Jim turns around fully. “Look,” he cuts the superior officer off, “you caught me in a weak moment. I was lost. I still am lost. It’s probably going to happen again, but I assure you, sir, that it will not interfere with my work.” He takes a breath, and his body shudders with it. “I’ll be completely okay eventually.” 

“Alright,” Pike says, unofficially dismissing Jim (not that this was ever official, or anything). He’s content to leave it at that.

**Five.**

“What the hell, Kirk?”

Kirk grins cheerily at the video comm regarding him in some combination of fury and bewilderment. He’s sitting on the edge of one of the beds in the sickbay, thankful for the moment of reprieve he got when it became evident that someone higher up wanted to speak directly to him at that moment. Bones had huffed and moved over to the next bed, where he had started to examine Spock, who was sitting there stoically. “Don’t worry, Admiral Pike,” he says, “everything’s under control now. Chief Engineer Scott’s getting us out of here. No casualties, just a few minor injuries.”

Pike looks at the young captain. He’d just been sitting in his office when a transmission from the _Enterprise_ had come in and alerted him that what was supposed to have been a diplomatic mission had nearly turned into an all-out war within the span of minutes, almost resulting in the destruction of the federation’s flagship. “What the hell happened?” he snaps, not acknowledging the fact that everyone was still able to escape with no real physical harm done. Jim hasn’t been a captain for long, and this was one of his first diplomatic missions, and if he can’t handle those… “What went wrong?”

“Spock did it,” Kirk chirps almost immediately. Pike is unimpressed. Spock merely glances over at Kirk for a brief moment before setting his eyes forward again, offering no objections.

“Damn it, Kirk, this is serious. Tell me what happened.”

Kirk’s smile finally falters, and he sobers. “Ah,” he sighs, “Spock didn’t really do anything… Nobody could’ve seen it coming, really. We didn’t anticipate a— The planet’s population is too emotional. No real tolerance for anyone whom they see as emotionally stunted. The mere presence of a Vulcan was enough to set them off, and any attempts to reason with them were… well… not accepted.

“They didn’t have phasers, thankfully, just lots of sharp objects. Stuff to stab at you with. Any kind of weapon that would make them feel more personally involved with the violence, really. So no one’s dead… just hurt. But we’re all okay, right, Bones?” Kirk looks away from the camera for a moment, grinning at someone off-screen.

“Your wrist’s broken and your chest wound is probably going to start bleeding again!” a gruff voice calls from off to the side.

Pike’s only really able to catch Jim’s reaction as the young man blinks and then looks from one wrist to the other in surprise. “Really? Which one?” he asks and is met with a snort.

“Jim,” the first name slips out of Pike’s mouth before he has the chance to catch himself, “you’re not in a lot of pain, there, are you?”

“Me?” Jim asks. “No, no, I’m fine, just a little—“ his voice gets cut off as he struggles to pull his uniform back over his head, “—beat up, it’s nothing. I’m—“

“—not done here,” McCoy’s voice finishes the sentence off for him. “Take that thing off, Jim, when you’re done over there; I’m going to have to rebandage that wound. It’ll heal faster if you just stay here and rest for a little while. The ship isn’t going to fall apart without you.”

Kirk looks resigned and a little excited at the same time, prompting Pike to go further. “How are things?” he asks, and Jim’s attention snaps back to him.

And he smiles; well, beams, is more like it, at the question. “Awesome. I’ve never been happier,” he sighs, blissfully. “I love this ship and I finally feel more like… Well, like this is what I should have been doing my whole life. What I…” he hesitates, reflects, for just a moment, “…would have been doing.” He regards Pike’s stare through the comm as best as he can. “Things finally feel right.”

Pike feels the corners of his own mouth turning upwards a little. “I’m glad,” he says, “that you’re settling in. Just try to keep these incidents to a minimum, okay? You shouldn’t be getting hurt… and you don’t want to lose this.”

Jim looks somewhere off screen, and mumbles, “No, I don’t.”

“Hmm,” Pike muses, coughs, lightly, and Jim looks back up. “And, um, just because I want to make sure that—how are things with…?” he trails off, leaving it open-ended, deciding that letting Jim make his own conclusions on what he wants to know about is the best course here.

“…The doctor?” Jim questions. “I told you, I’m not really hurt, I’m—they’re good. I’m happy.”

Silence falls and Pike can see Jim getting ready to end the communication, and for some reason, he just doesn’t want to stop talking just yet, even though there isn’t anything left to talk about. But he’s still concerned and just wants to really, really make sure that everything’s right with him, so he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “Keep up the great work, Captain. You’re doing Starfleet proud.” He’d say something about Jim’s father, but he doesn’t want to potentially upset the kid, and besides, he really feels like he’s claimed the role now. And Jim should already know that he’s made Pike proud long ago.

“Thanks,” Jim says, and he gives a small smile before ending the call, but it’s one of the most genuine ones Pike thinks he’s ever seen, and despite the fact that really, in all fairness, it should be him on that ship, he couldn’t be happier, either.

**And One.**

They’ve been on shore leave for three or four days now, on Earth, and they’re ready to depart again soon. Kirk’s making his first appearance at the Academy since taking off in a sudden rush as soon as they’d landed without telling anyone why. Nobody had seen him since, but now he’s coming back.

He takes the numerous steps up to the building’s entrance, gazing around, looking for one person in particular, and when he doesn’t see him, he just moves on, not wasting any time.

He finds Christopher Pike in an empty hallway, on his way to get some lunch, and he sees the smile on his mentor’s face; sees his expression light up when Kirk approaches. Before Pike can greet him, though, or ask how he’s been, or even open his mouth, Jim blurts out, “So, my mom just died.”

Pike’s expression immediately changes into one of disbelief. “W-what?” he stutters out, not sure if he heard the words properly. People don’t usually announce things like that so, well… like that. So bluntly and emotionlessly and as if they were merely stating that the sky is blue. But Jim didn’t mumble, or obscure his words, he just… came out and said it. But Pike still can’t really believe it. “How?” he asks, because he knew Winona, at least for a little while, after the destruction of the _Kelvin_ , and he didn’t think she was that old or anything, but…

“Some sickness,” Jim says, and half-laughs, running his hands through his hair and sitting down on the floor in the hallway, his back pressed up against one of the walls. Pike doesn’t move, and it’s not like he’s blocking anyone’s way, anyway, so. He just sits there and waits for Jim to continue, which he does, eventually. “She just… I didn’t even know she was sick until a week ago. I changed the course, headed back here as soon as I knew, but by the time I got back to Riverside she’d already died.” He stares straight ahead, not really seeing anything despite his intense focus on the other wall. “I didn’t get to say goodbye or anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Pike says, like a reflex, because he’s feeling a coldness seeping in his insides at the thought that someone else he actually knew, had spoken to, from that far back in his past, is now dead. And that her son hadn’t even been there, hadn’t even really had the chance… “She was a great woman,” he says, hoping that this will provide at least a little bit of comfort, like Jim could be proud of her, regardless. 

But instead Jim just gives that strange half-laugh again. “Was she?” he asks, and turns to look up at Pike, and he can see the beginnings of tears being held back behind those eyes. “I never would have guessed it; I never really knew her,” and this time Jim does mutter, turning back to stare at the wall.

Whatever Pike was expecting, it wasn’t that, and he doesn’t know what to say in response. He feels like it would be insensitive to probe further, but at the same time—

Jim wipes at his eyes, half-heartedly, and blinks a lot. “She was off-planet a lot. I hardly ever saw her. She just left me in the care of the first person she could grab hold of who would actually marry a young widow with a lot of newly-equipped husband issues and two sons. She left me alone with _him_ and then ran off and did whatever it was she did and I never saw her for more than two weeks at a time. So while she was having the time of her life, messing around up in space or some other planet and basically just being anywhere but on Earth, I was left alone to be beaten and hurt and hospitalized time and time again by the next person she’d married until I was fifteen and finally ran away like my brother had had the foresight to do before me.” Now Jim just shuts his eyes, tight, and some of the fluid behind them starts to leak out a little. “I haven’t seen Sam since. I was completely alone.”

“Admiral,” Jim says, opening his eyes again and turning his face back up towards Pike’s, “can you tell me stories of how my mother was a good woman, please? I’d like to hear them – I’d like some evidence of this claim, since I never really witnessed it myself. She divorced my stepdad when I was eleven, claiming that she’d met someone else, and married him, and left me to stay with my first stepdad. She never inquired into my wellbeing, I don’t know if she ever knew what he was doing to me… Anyone’s guess is as good as mine. My own _mother_ , and I don’t even know,” and this time it’s a dark and biting bark of a laugh. “I think she divorced that guy a year later and married someone else. And then after two years she divorced him and married someone else. And at that point I stopped giving a shit and just ran the fuck out of there and didn’t look back once.

“I did a pretty good job of that, too, even when I did join the Academy… I was able to avoid mentions of her. She never did anything for me, just birthed me, and that was it, and I don’t understand why she never cared for me. Was I just so terrible, that she could tell right away what I’d become, and decided she wanted no part of that? Did I just drive her away?” Jim asks, his voice strangled around the word “drive”, still looking up at Pike rather than down on him, feeling vulnerable as he takes a deep, shaky breath. “I can’t even remember the last time I saw her, alive; did she just never want me to be in her life, did she…”

“Jim,” Pike’s voice breaks through, softly, and Jim stops talking and looks up at Pike, completely exposed and completely in Pike’s hands. “You saved countless lives, you became the youngest captain in Starfleet history… I’m sure she was proud of you,” he says, because he really isn’t sure what else there is to say. He hadn’t expected the kid to come and start emptying himself out at Pike’s feet, so he’s a little bit stuck on how to respond to this outburst of emotions.

Jim just remains silent, though, and directs his gaze to the floor underneath Pike’s chair. They’re still in the empty hallway and while he really doesn’t feel like he can move right now, though he knows that they probably should, because anybody could turn the corner and see him a mess there at any moment, and he wants to just talk with Pike privately, he only wants Pike to see him in this sort of state, because he just _needs_ to vent in some way, to someone, and Pike instinctively feels like the best choice here. But he’s stuck now, and Pike’s saying all of the wrong things, and he isn’t understanding him.

“But she never paid any attention to me, my whole life,” he mumbles, and Pike strains to catch it. “I never got any message of congratulations from her at any point in my life. I’m positive that on more than one occasion, we were in the same bar together, and I was making a mess of myself, and getting my ass kicked, and not once did she step up and pull me aside and try to help me out, or straighten me out.” _You were the only one who did that,_ Jim thinks, but the thought isn’t spoken. 

“Maybe... maybe she wasn’t actually there, Jim?” Pike suggests, unsure of what to really say. Jim Kirk, whom he’s always known as being so closed off and hiding it by being an ass to push people away, is finally spilling his guts out to _him_ , and while he’d wished that Jim would open up in the past, he never really wanted it to be like this. Or for this. He didn’t know that this was a reality.

Jim just remains silent, and Pike notices that his chest has stopped heaving, or moving all together, like he’s barely even breathing. And then he speaks again, “That would have been fitting, wouldn’t it? Never ever really did see her, I could’ve been mistaken, or just too drunk or high or…” He gulps some air down, feeling completely nauseous now. “I was doing such a damn good job of avoiding her, too. It would have been wrong if she actually had stumbled upon me again, at some point… Saw me… I think she hated me and she didn’t even know me.”

Pike wants to say that there’s no way that his mother hated him, but it’s becoming more and more evident that he doesn’t know anything about this, and clearly trying to cast Winona in a better light isn’t getting anywhere with the boy. And if he’s felt disconnected from his mother his whole life, to the point where he genuinely believes that she hated him, and not in the whiny-teenager way, then he isn’t going to let himself be swayed over to the idea that maybe his mother really did care about him now. Or ever. The situation is lost and Pike wants to remedy this one as well, but he can’t. So he just reaches out to Jim, places his hand as best he can on the shoulder closest to him, and leaves it there, offering some kind of support as best he can.

Jim closes his eyes and shifts over a little closer to Pike at the touch, feeling it grounding him. “I really think she hated me,” he whispers.

“It’s probably better to not think about that,” Pike offers, softly, and Jim just snaps his eyes open and glares at Pike and makes a move to stand up, using the wall as a means of support. 

“My mother just died. What am I _supposed_ to think about?” Kirk snaps. “I can’t get anything else on my mind right now. I’ve tried. She won’t go away. I spend my whole life never seeing her and it’s only after she’s died that she won’t go away,” his voice softens as he goes on, and he snorts. “I would’ve been perfectly content to have gone on not hearing about her… For some reason Command felt it necessary that I know. I’m out in deep space and they tell me that my mother is dying, but she’s still alive, she’s not dead yet, but she won’t be alive much longer, so…” He trails off and is staring out over Pike’s head. “Why did they tell me?”

“I think they had to,” Pike says, all-too conscious of the hand that was holding Jim now hanging limply at his side. “They probably thought that you should know.”

“They should mind their own fucking business,” Jim mutters absentmindedly. He flicks his eyes downwards to look back at Pike. “Ah, sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he means it.

Pike just shrugs. “I’ll agree with you there,” he says, and Jim gives a small smile at that.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Pike starts to wheel his way forwards, thinking that maybe they could go to his personal quarters if things get any heavier than this, where they’ll be guaranteed privacy. Jim follows automatically, looking a little like a lost and kicked puppy, as if he wouldn’t know what to do without Pike’s sturdy presence by him. He increases his stride so that he’s walking alongside Pike rather than behind him. Pike turns his head to look at Kirk, and remarks, “If you’d like, I’ll go to the funeral with you.”

“Either they already had the funeral or there isn’t going to be one,” is Jim’s response. “They said they waited for me to come back to decide on arrangements. I told them to just chuck her in a ditch and leave me the hell alone.” 

“That wasn’t right,” Pike says as they keep on moving. “That’s actually kind of a horrible thing to say.”

“Yeah,” Jim admits, but his voice is hollow and he probably doesn’t even care.

“I’m serious. I mean it. No matter what a person does—“

“She may not have directly hurt me, but she abandoned me. I try to help out everyone I can and be sensitive to others and whatever, but I have to draw the line at some point. If she had acted like an actual parent to me then maybe we would’ve met when I was sober and not bleeding from every orifice and actually presentable.”

Unsurprisingly, considering the way he thought his lunchtime was going to go, Pike is left at a loss for words, and they go the rest of the way in silence. When they enter the private room, Pike moves forwards, but Kirk lingers uncertainly by the doorway.

Pike notices this and looks at Jim over his shoulder. “Come on in, it’s okay,” he says, and that’s enough to get the kid to move again.

Jim feels a bit at a loss, unfamiliar with having an adult taking such a personal, parental attitude with him, even though he knows that there was definitely a reason he came to Pike and hadn’t even breathed a word about what he’d been doing on his shore leave to anyone else. He’d taken up and off and just vanished and come back and the only time he’d spoken was briefly, at Riverside, to those who were in possession of his mom’s earthly remains. And then it had been short and curt and he’d shut himself off and kept himself shut off, unsure about letting his feelings lose and actually vocalizing them. 

And on the way back to San Francisco it had hit him, because he couldn’t go to Frank, naturally, and had done his best to stay as far away from that area of Riverside (though that was difficult because it’s not like it’s a particularly big town or anything), and he wasn’t comfortable with relaying any of this sort of stuff to his crew, afraid that they might end up looking down on him with pity or as if he’d brought this on himself or whatever. And he was above them, in rank, anyway, and outside of rank, he was more equal to them than anything; they were more his friends than anything.

No, Jim needed someone to do for him what his mother should have done for him, or what he thinks his father would have done for him, or would have even been like to him, since he has this idealized heroic image of a father standing over him and looking out for him and protecting him, guiding him along the right path, and that’s when Jim had realized that he did actually have someone like that, who actually was still alive, and it had just been twenty-two years late that he had actually stepped into his life. But Pike had really done a lot for him, and though it had been in front of his eyes all along, he was only just now starting to catch on, to realize that there actually was someone out there who did love him unconditionally and actually was proud of him, his accomplishments, what he’d become, and had helped him get there through whatever means he could, whether or not he should have.

And there was no suggestion of any negativity; every time he’d gotten lectured, he’d deserved it, and had heeded it, and had tried to take its messages to heart and better himself with them and never forget them so he wouldn’t have to be lectured again, because finally, _finally_ , there was somebody out there he didn’t want to disappoint. His mom abandoned him and wasn’t going to come back, and there was already no way for him to win his stepdad over, so there was never going to be any redemption for him in those areas. If they had wanted him to do good then they would have acted like it, like any normal parent, but it had never happened, so he went through life not giving a fuck about what he was told to do and going out of his way to get into trouble and disobey anything and everything and that had only started to stop with a dare.

Pike was the first person to believe in him and he was the first person he didn’t want to hurt. 

So Jim steps forward, back up to Pike, and he bends down and embraces the older, wiser man who has gone out of his way to help him even though there was no need. He feels Pike’s shock, and the slow at first movement of his arms as he returns the impromptu, completely random hug that neither of them had been expecting.

Jim’s thankful for him.


End file.
